


Paramedic's Sweater

by panchostokes (badwolfrun)



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Gen, Nick Stokes Whump, Whump, Whump Without Plot, gratuitous whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-19 12:03:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20209435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfrun/pseuds/panchostokes
Summary: Nick seems a bit...off, so off that he doesn't seem to notice the blood on his shirt.





	Paramedic's Sweater

**Author's Note:**

> a prompt, from impossiblepluto: you know that scene in Rashomama when Nick pulls off his jacket and Warrick is staring at him and Nick is like "what?" then looks down and surprise, there's blood on his shirt, but it's evidence, not Nick's blood... well, I wish you would write a story where a similar scene happens, but it's not evidence it IS Nick's blood! (could be anyone in the locker room, I'm not picky)

“Nick?”

He had never quite noticed before, the exact pattern of the tiles on the floor of Grissom’s office. A checkered pattern, that didn’t quite fit with the rest of the lab. It was slate grey and navy blue…or was it a crimson red and pale yellow?

“Nicky?”

Nick lifted his head, Grissom’s voice had called out to him from his desk. His eyes pierced through Nick behind the shine of his glasses, which were perched on the end of his nose. Nick felt a shudder, he was causing an annoyance. He cleared his throat, zipped up his jacket. He was _freezing._

“Are you feeling okay?”

“No, not…not really…I, uh…I wanted to ask if I could…take off a bit early,” Nick muttered sheepishly. It was bad enough that Grissom was giving him the death glare, now here he was, hat in hand, asking for the rest of the night off. “Not feeling too good.”

Grissom’s eyebrows narrowed as he turned to his watch, before returning back to his paperwork.

“Weren’t you working that B&E…?”

“I just got back–dropped off a bunch of prints and trace. Mandy and…Hodges told me that uh…that it’d-it’d be a while, anyway.” Nick stammered, a bit breathlessly.

“And your reports?”

“Yes sir, should…should be in that pile.”

“Okay. Get some rest.”

“Thankssss,” Nick responded, lingering on the end of the word. His stomach felt like it was peeling from the inside out. His head felt light, he nearly stumbled into the door frame as he turned towards the locker room. Locker room…bench…maybe he just needed to sit for a minute.

Two hours later, and Grissom was ready to throw in the towel himself. Nick was correct, his reports were in the pile he was working on. He felt a twinge of guilt, perhaps he should have shown more sympathy for the younger CSI. Everyone had been put under tremendous stress as of late, given their recent staffing issues.

He walked into the locker room, shocked to find that Nick was sitting on the bench, his chin hugging his chest…he must have fallen asleep. 

“Nicky?” Grissom whispered, resting a hand on the man’s shoulder. Nick jumped and fluttered out of his grasp, a bird, rattled in a cage.

“Gr-Grissom! S-sorry I fell asleep…just waiting…on test results.” 

“You told me. You were going to go home, remember?”

“Home…yeah. Warrick was gonna give…me a ride.”

Grissom’s heart stopped.

“Nick…Warrick’s…Warrick’s not–”

“It’s so _cold _in here…” Nick ignored Grissom, began to unzip his jacket. “Think I got a sweater in my locker.”

Grissom’s eyes widened, as Nick stripped off his jacket. There was a large, discolored, wet spot on the man’s shirt.

“Oh. No sweater.” Nick said glumly, his hand sliding down from the locker, to his stomach, gently touching it. His face morphed into a grimace of pain, before slowly opening his eyes again, his breath labored.

“_Nick–” _Grissom started, before stepping towards the door. “Somebody get a paramedic, _NOW!” _

_“_Paramedic? How’s a paramedic gonna help me get a sweater?” Nick asked, before he mirrored the expression of horror on Grissom’s face. He looked down at his hand, covered in blood._ His_ blood.


End file.
